His mother weeping does his eyelids close,And on his urn, tears, her last gift, bestows.His sister too, with hair dishevell'd, bearsPart of her mother's nature, and her tears.With those, two fair, two mournful rivals come,And add a greater triumph to his tomb:Both hug his urn, both his lov'd ashes kiss,And both contend which reap'd the greater bliss.Thus Delia spoke (when sighs no more could last)Renewing by remembrance pleasures past;"When youth with vigour did for joy combine,I was Tibullus' life, Tibullus mine;1 entertained his hot, his first desire,And kept alive, till age, his active fire."To her then Nemesis (when groans gave leave)"As I alone was lov'd, alone I'll grieve;Spare your vain tears, Tibullus' heart was mine,About my neck his dying arms did twine:I snatch'd his soul, which true to me did prove;Age ended yours, death only stopp'd my love."